Happiness
by Sigma Creations
Summary: Not an HR fic this time, but one about Malcolm and Jean (my OC from Hope Springs). This fic was written a long time ago and has sat on my hard-drive waiting for me to pluck up the courage to publish it. Definitely M-rated and hopefully enjoyable. Kudos owns what's theirs and the rest is my own work. Reviews are always appreciated. Cheers, S.C.


"Malcolm?" she calls.

"Yes?" he replies, coming up the steps onto the deck.

"Would you do my back please?"

"Of course," he nods, approaching her and taking the bottle of suntan lotion she holds out to him. She lies down on her stomach, making room for him to perch on the side of the cushion and pulling her long, dark hair out of the way. He takes a seat by her hip and puts the bottle down for a moment before taking a deep calming breath and unclasping the straps across her back and neck. Then he squirts some cream onto his hand before rubbing it between his palms to warm it up and reaching forward to touch her soft skin. He's been doing this for her for years now, but it still provokes the same reaction inside him, a mixture of nerves, pleasure, and arousal that leaves his stomach in knots, his heart racing, his palms sweaty, and lately, his groin on fire. Up until they'd started dating, he'd been able to control his physical reaction to her, but the dances and kisses they've shared seem to have reduced the threshold of his sex starved body's response to her. It's been years after all – more than a decade – since the last time he's been intimate with someone.

He watches his hands glide over her skin, so soft and warm, spreading the white cream over her shoulders, down her spine and across her ribs, down to her waist and lower to her bikini bottoms. He moves his hands back up, rubbing in the remaining cream until no trace of it remains and he reluctantly has to pull back. "Done," he murmurs, his voice slightly deeper than usual.

"Thanks," she replies. His eyes travel over her beautiful body, taking in every detail for several seconds more as he desperately wishes he had the courage to attempt to seduce her. He doesn't though; he's never been very good in bed and he's scared of disappointing her, not to mention the fact that he'd be far too self-conscious to even attempt it. Realising that he's still perched on the cushion, leaning against her left hip, he quickly stands and walks over to the railing, facing away from her and out to sea where he takes several deep breaths to calm himself. Several moments pass in silence and then she says, "I meant to tell you, Malcolm – Michael's coming tomorrow. He called this morning to tell me that he and Joanna are touring Europe by rail and they wanted to stop by and see me."

"That's nice," he replies. "Are they staying long?"

"One or two nights, he said. Will you be around tomorrow, or are you writing?"

"I can make time to see them if you wish," he murmurs as he turns to look at her.

"I'd like that," she smiles. "You know how much they enjoyed coming out in your boat last time. Would it be too much to ask you to take us out again?"

He frowns at the way she's made the request and replies, "Jean, you should know by now that I'm always happy to take you out on my boat, and your son and his fiancé too."

"Thank you, Malcolm," she smiles lifting herself onto her elbows to see him better, carefully making sure that her bikini top is sandwiched between her upper arms and chest so it doesn't fall.

"It's my pleasure," he replies and turns away, adding, "I'm going for a swim." Then, walking back to the stern, he pulls his t-shirt off and dives in, needing the cool water to calm his body and the activity of swimming to clear his head and take his mind off Jean and the precariously balanced bit of material that could so easily slip to reveal her ample bosom.

* * *

"Will you come in?" she asks with a smile.

"It's late. I'd best be off home," he murmurs, feeling suddenly nervous. They've had a lovely evening; it's been their best date yet, but over the last week, he's been becoming increasingly anxious. It doesn't take a genius to realise that after seven weeks of dating, Jean is almost certainly wanting to take their relationship to the next level physically, and he's far from ready to do that, making him anxious and reserved every time he drops her off at her place and she invites him in.

"Come on, Malcolm," she replies lightly. "I don't bite. Come in for a nightcap."

"All right," he gives in, unable to resist her when she looks at him like that, with her sensual mouth pouting just a little and her beautiful green eyes begging him to accept and then sparkling in delight when he does. It's this sparkle of delight that almost makes his heart stop and his insides melt every time. After every dance they share it's there, and he knows he's a decent dancer and he can elicit it from her every time, but he's terrified of having sex because he's rubbish at it and he knows he'll disappoint her. And then what? If someone could guarantee that things between them would stay the same even if he fails to please her, he'd do it, but no one can. He could lose everything and he couldn't bear that. He loves her too much for that.

She hands him a glass of wine and takes a seat beside him, placing her hand on his knee and leaning against his side. He loves to feel her against him like this. It used to make him uncomfortable when she got too close, but now he doesn't know how he manages to survive all day without seeing her, having her beside him, listening to her musical voice, dancing with her.

"Malcolm?" she asks with a frown.

"Sorry?" he replies, startled.

"Did you even hear a word of what I just said?" she smiles.

"Er... no, sorry," he replies sheepishly. "I was miles away."

"Not thinking of Albert Alexander and his crew were you?" she teases.

"Yes, sorry," he murmurs apologetically, blushing furiously at the lie he's just told.

"Malcolm," she sighs, "you're a terrible liar. How on earth did you become a spy if you can't lie?"

"I... um," he stutters. "I can. I just... I can't seem to manage it with you," he sighs and gives her a crooked smile.

"Well, thank God for that! So what were you thinking about?" she asks again, but he remains silent for some time before he plucks up the courage to speak.

"I was thinking that I love you," he murmurs eventually, looking down at the glass in his hand as he speaks.

He hears her inhale sharply and feels her stiffen momentarily next to him. Then she whispers, "Do you know that's the first time you've told me that, Malcolm?" He nods in response and risks a sideways glance at her. Her eyes are brighter than he's ever seen them and her lips are curled up into a soft, sensual smile. "Say it again," she murmurs softly as her hand cups his cheek and turns his head towards her more fully. He lowers his gaze again, but she objects, saying softly, "Look at me and say it again. Please, Malcolm. Just once... for me."

He raises his eyes to hers and takes a couple of steadying breaths as he watches her, seeing the hope and anticipation in her gaze that turns into a sparkle of delight as he whispers softly, "I love you, Jean Thomas."

"Oh, Malcolm," she sighs, her eyes dancing with delight and making his insides melt. "I love you too."

And suddenly he feels the same excitement and exhilaration that dancing always ignites in him, and he blindly puts his glass on the coffee table and reaches for her, slipping his arms round her and pulling her to him, pressing his lips firmly against hers, kissing her passionately. Her arms wrap around his back, tangle in his hair, bringing him closer to her as she moans softly in pleasure sending his blood pressure soaring. She's pulling away now, falling backwards and he follows her down, not wanting to let go of her for even one second. He gets lost in the feel of her against him, so soft and yielding beneath him, warm and perfect.

One of her hands slips into his hair while the other moves across his back, over his arm and under, sliding against his chest, her fingers pressing into his flesh through the fabric of his shirt, sending shivers of pleasure through him. Her fingers have found his nipple now and are circling around it, touching it delicately, her nail scraping across it and causing it to rise up into a peak as a shiver runs down his spine, and next moment, she's pinching it gently and eliciting a moan of pleasure from somewhere deep inside him. She does it again and this time he has to release her lips as he exhales heavily, groaning loudly, and grinding himself against her hip. It's this last action that abruptly clears his lust filled mind and causes his eyes to fly open, suddenly seeing everything clearly and in sharp focus.

He lifts himself on his hands, looking down at her with a mixture of desire and regret as she lies along the sofa below him, her dark hair spread out like a fan around her face, her eyes dark pools of desire, her lips so full and soft and swollen. Then he sees the realization that he's going to pull away again dawn in her eyes, the desperation, the hurt, the sadness replacing the sparkling delight and desire, and he has to close his own eyes for a moment, not wanting to see how much he's hurting her. "I'm sorry," he murmurs as he pulls back, sitting down on the edge of the sofa beside her and putting his head in his hands. "I'd better go," he adds without looking at her as he feels her sit up beside him and he begins to turn away.

"Please don't go, Malcolm," she murmurs softly and he feels her hand slide onto his knee again. "We can't keep doing this. We have to talk, get past this, or it'll destroy what we have... and neither of us wants that. I need to understand."

"Jean," he sighs as he brings his hand up to his face, rubbing his forehead. "I'm not sure I _can_ talk about it."

"Please, Malcolm. I know you find me attractive," she replies. "I know you want me, so why do you always stop and pull away?"

"I'm not sure," he murmurs and hesitates before forcing himself to go on, knowing that she's right; if they don't resolve this, it'll push them apart. "I... I've never been very good... at this."

"Who told you that?" she asks and he can hear her voice change and take on an indignant tone making him momentarily afraid. "Whoever said that is a complete and utter twat who has no idea what she's talking about," she continues angrily, and he feels a warmth spread over his heart when he realises that she's not angry at him, she's protecting him; she's angry on his behalf. He turns his head and raises his eyes to look at her as she declares, "No one who can dance like you do can possibly be anything but great in bed. There's a reason that people call it the horizontal tango. You just need to listen to the music inside your head, Malcolm, and stop worrying about everything else." She watches him for several moments and he wonders what she's thinking. Then slowly she smiles and says, "I have an idea. Do you trust me, Malcolm?"

"Yes," he nods, but he can't help the knot of apprehension that materializes deep in his belly.

"If I promise to let you control everything, the pace, how far you want to go, when you want to stop, without blaming you or holding it against you, will you come upstairs with me?" she asks next.

He swallows and looks away, reaching for his drink and downing the remainder of his wine before turning towards her again. "Yes," he breaths, and there it is again, the sparkle of delight in her eyes that makes it all worth it.

"Good," she smiles and gets up, offering him her hand. He takes it and stands, letting her lead him to the stairs and up towards her room. As they approach her bedroom, the butterflies that have taken up residence inside his tummy flutter about with renewed energy and he has to fight his desire to flee with every weapon he possesses. She stops in front of the bedroom door and smiles at him, before turning the handle and entering. Once inside she murmurs, "Hold on, I forgot something. I'll be right back." Then she turns and leaves, adding, "The bathroom's next door if you need it."

"Thanks," he murmurs and turns to go there, feeling a little overwhelmed by his nerves and needing a moment to compose himself. Once inside he leans against the door, taking several deep steadying breaths. "Stop thinking," he murmurs to himself and pushes away from the door, using the loo and washing his hands before splashing some cold water on his face and then staring into the mirror. "You can't back out now. You can do this. Remember Aurora," he tells his reflection and turns resolutely away, wiping his face on the towel and exiting the room.

He knocks gently on the bedroom door and it opens slowly, revealing Jean dressed in a short sleeved, knee length, wine coloured, silk robe that's tied loosely round her waist and it takes him a moment to recover from such an erotic sight. It's just as alluring as the emerald green dress she wore this evening and he's momentarily lost for words.

"Come in," she smiles and pulls him by the hand into the room before closing the door behind him.

He blinks and clears his throat, murmuring, "You look... divine."

"Thank you," she smiles and leads him by the hand over to the bed. Then she presses a soft kiss to his cheek and climbs onto the bed, saying gently, "You have my permission to do anything you want to me, Malcolm. I'm going to lie down on my bed and wear a blindfold because I thought it might make you feel less self-conscious if I'm not be able to see you." He swallows hard and looks away nervously. "Turn the music on, Malcolm," she murmurs.

Grateful for the distraction, he turns his head away to look for the music player and spots it in the corner on top of the chest of drawers. It's a beautiful room, he discovers as he looks around for the first time. The walls are a warm peach colour, and two large windows with sheer, pale yellow curtains drawn across them allow the moonlight to filter through onto the floor and bed. The furniture is sparse, white, and elegant and the room tidy and clean, and she's lit several candles and placed them all around, giving it a very sensual, romantic atmosphere. He presses the play button on the CD player and the room fills with slow tango music, the kind they've dance to many times together. He turns to look at her and finds her lying on her back on the bed, her eyes covered by a black, silk blindfold.

Slowly he approaches, his eyes roaming over her beautiful body, lingering on her hips and the contour of her breasts outlined under the thin material of her robe. She sighs softly and murmurs, "I love this music. Are you listening to the music, Malcolm?"

"Yes," he replies huskily and focuses his mind on it, closing his eyes and letting himself get lost in its rhythm for a few moments, and when he opens his eyes once more, he wants to touch her. He approaches the bed and sits down on the edge, and he can hear her breathing change as she feels the bed dip under his weight. He watches her intently, taking in the way her lips part in anticipation and her chest rises and falls faster. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs.

"Touch me, Malcolm, please," she begs, so he does, brushing his fingertips slowly across her cheeks, down her neck, over her shoulders, down her arms to her palms, letting his eyes follow their progress, taking in every detail, every freckle, every birthmark on her beautifully tanned skin as it peaks out from below her robe. His fingers slide off the end of hers and he lifts his hands again, bringing them back up to her shoulders and letting them glide over her torso this time, round the outside of her breasts, then underneath as she sighs in pleasure.

His breathing is as shallow as hers now and the tightness in his trousers painful, forcing him to stand to rearrange himself, before continuing to stroke her, his finders gliding over her stomach. They reach the cord tied around her waist and pull it loose, letting the edges fall to the side and slowly parting the material. He doesn't realise he's holding his breath until he releases it in a short, heavy stream of air as the material falls to the side and she's revealed to him for the first time. He knows her figure, has felt it below his fingertips and against his body as they've danced, has had glimpses of it when they've bathed in the sea, but it's the first time he sees her naked and she takes his breath away.

"God, Jean," he almost moans, "you're perfect." His mind floods with passion, the music and her beauty dazzling him. He climbs onto the bed beside her, lying down close to her and pressing his lips to hers, his left arm supporting his weight as he leans over her, bringing his right hand round to cup her breast, not fleetingly with his fingertips this time, but firmly, kneading her flesh, rubbing his thumb against her nipple and making her moan. Her arms wrap around him, her leg bending at the knee and sliding up between his. They kiss ardently, tongues swirling together, teeth nipping, lips sucking until they're out of breath and they have to come up for air. He trails kisses along her jaw to her ear, sucking on her ear lobe and whispering his love, dipping his tongue inside and hearing her moan. His hands are busy too, gliding down her back to her buttocks, squeezing them gently.

"Oh, Malcolm," she moans as she presses herself against him. "I want you. Please."

"Patience," he murmurs into her ear and then pushes her onto her back, straddling her hips and trailing his fingers over her skin. He leans over her, pressing his mouth against her neck, sucking on her skin, his fingers pinching her nipples, his mouth moving lower, licking her breasts, responding to her moans of encouragement, her directions to move lower or to the left, suck hard or caress gently.

He's read so many books on what to do to give pleasure, not to mention all the hours of surveillance video he's had to watch for MI-5 of people having sex, but this is the first time he's felt confident to try any of it out, and it's because of her. She's made him feel confident because she believes in him, she believes that he's a good lover, and this idea with the blindfold and the music is taking away his shyness. Every other time he's done this the lights have been off, there has been nothing to see, only to feel and fumble in the dark. He's not the type of man to _take_ charge and he's never been given the opportunity to focus solely on his partner's pleasure before, so he's never been able to last long enough. But this? He can do this, he _loves_ to do this. And he's eternally grateful for it, for her, for her belief in him, for her love, so he wants to prove her right, he wants to be the best that he can be and give her so much pleasure.

His lips have moved lower down now, caressing her abdomen as she arches her back towards him in anticipation, moaning his name. He'd never particularly liked his name until he'd met Jean. Now he thinks that perhaps, by the end of this evening, he'll love it. He's pushed her legs apart now, trailing his fingers along the inside of her thighs as he gazes at her delicate folds, admiring their symmetry, their beauty, dipping his mouth down to taste her, and marvelling at how delicious she is. It's the first time he's ever done this and it amazes him a little that he's almost fifty five and has never performed oral sex before, has never wanted to until this moment. His train of thought is interrupted by a series of short, hard pants from his lover, and as he looks up at her face, he can see that she's close to her climax.

"Oh," she pants, "don't stop. Oh, God, don't stop," so he keeps going, rubbing his tongue against her clit in exactly the way he's been doing, but adding his fingers into the mix, sliding them inside her slowly and watching her groan and buck under him. "Oh, yes," she calls out, and as he curls his fingers inside her, she breaks, lifting her hips clear off the bed and moaning his name. He pushes her back down with his free hand and holds her there as he slides his fingers in and out, reducing the pressure on her clitoris as it becomes unbearable for her and she writhes beneath him.

He works his way up the bed, leaning over her with two of his fingers still inside her, caressing her breasts with his mouth, rubbing his thumb against her clit, building her up again and watching her tumble over her second peak, shuddering against him as she calls out his name. She wraps her arms around him this time and pulls him up, capturing his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He needs to see her eyes, he realises suddenly, so he gently slips his fingers out of her and brings his hand up, wiping it quickly on the sheet and tugging the blindfold off her as he lifts his face to look at her. Her eyes are closed, but as she feels him free her of her mask, she opens them and gazes at him in pure adoration. It's like nothing he's ever experienced before, the look of a satisfied woman who's just fallen in love with you all over again. "If I die right now," he murmurs softly, "I'll die a happy man."

She smiles sensually and replies, "Malcolm, you're wearing all together too many clothes." Her fingers begin to work on the buttons of his shirt as she pushes him back and straddles him quickly, and he's momentarily distracted by her breasts as he sees their full size for the first time.

"You're so beautiful, Jean," he murmurs, reaching up to cup them, running his fingers delicately over them, and when she closes her eyes and tilts her head back a little, tugging on her nipples gently, making her moan.

She looks down at him again and says, "My turn now, Malcolm." Then she reaches for the blindfold and holds it out to him, watching him and waiting to see if he'll accept it. He hesitates, feeling suddenly self-conscious and nervous again. "What are you worried about, Malcolm?" she asks softly. "I won't hurt you."

"It's not that," he replies quickly. "I just... I'm not..." He falls silent, unable to articulate his thoughts, his fear that she will find him unattractive, that he won't be good enough, that she'll be disappointed.

"Did you enjoy giving me pleasure, Malcolm?" she asks.

"Yes," he murmurs.

"Why?"

"Because I love you," he replies, "because it makes me happy to give you pleasure."

"Do you think I'm beautiful?"

"I think you're perfect," he confesses.

"Malcolm," she smiles, "I'm forty-eight years old. How many men do you think would think that I'm perfect?"

"I don't know," he replies.

"I think you're the only one who could possibly think so," she says, "because you love me. Most men would probably think that I'm nothing special, unless perhaps they're in their eighties or nineties, in which case they might say I'm all right." He smiles at the joke and she continues, "So you see, Malcolm, you have nothing to worry about. I think you're perfect too... because I love you and there is no other man I would rather have in my life, in by bed, or in my body." He blushes and looks away at the last remark and it makes her smile softly. "God, I love you, Malcolm. What other man would have a naked woman sitting across his lap and blush at the mention of intercourse? Please, let me love you. Let me show you how much I love you because it'll make me very happy and I'll enjoy it very much, and hopefully, so will you." He hesitates again so she asks, "Would it help if we blow out the candles?"

"I think, yes," he murmurs.

"All right," she smiles, "but first, will you let me remove your shirt, Malcolm? I really want to see you, and after all, I've seen you shirtless before when we've been swimming."

"Okay," he agrees.

She smiles and reaches forward, beginning to unbutton his shirt once more. Her fingers brush against his skin softly and he sighs and closes his eyes. He feels her lips press a gentle kiss against each new bit of his chest that's revealed to her, and when she licks his nipples, he moans softly with want. His breathing becomes fast and shallow as her kisses and caresses move lower and lower, and when her tongue unexpectedly dips into his navel, a gasp of pleasure escapes him.

She pulls his shirt out of his trousers and murmurs, "Sit up, Malcolm. I want to take this off." So he complies, sitting up with her still straddling his thighs as she pushes the shirt off his shoulders while he tugs it off his wrists and drops it onto the floor. Her arms wrap round his shoulders, her chest coming into contact with his for the first time, the feeling of her naked breasts pressing against him sending new waves of pleasure coursing through him. She brings her mouth to his neck and shoulder, sucking and biting alternatively, her nails raking sensually against his back and making him groan. He brings his hands round to cup her breasts again, pushing her back a little and lowering his mouth to them, capturing first one nipple and then the other with his lips, sucking and nipping on them in turn and making her moan and squirm against him.

She pushes him back down onto the bed and murmurs, "I'll be right back." Then she slips off him and walks around the room blowing out the candles as he sits up and watches the graceful movements of her beautiful body.

She reaches the last one that's on the bedside table and he murmurs, "Don't. Leave that one."

"Okay," she smiles and pulls back the covers, sliding in underneath them and saying, "Join me, Malcolm."

He nods and gets off the bed, turning away as he quickly removes the rest of his clothes and slips under the covers beside her. He approaches her cautiously but determinedly, wanting, needing to be the one to make the first move. She smiles and turns onto her side to face him, reaching out her hand to touch him, running her fingers down the front of his chest, lacing them gently through the dusting of brown curls she finds there as he scoots close enough to wrap his arm around her waist.

He smiles, his heart beating fast, his whole body hypersensitive to her touch, his breathing shallow. He slips his hand behind her back and kisses her lips softly before pulling back and murmuring, "It's been... a very long time and this might be rather..." he tails off embarrassed.

"Don't worry, Malcolm," she smiles and kisses his cheek. "I'm sure it will be wonderful." He looks doubtful, so she adds, "I have a confession to make."

That catches his attention immediately and he asks, "Oh?"

"I don't normally share this before sex, but I think it might help you relax a little and enjoy yourself more," she says. "I'm one of those very lucky women who can achieve orgasm without any stimulation at all."

He frowns at her statement and asks, "How?"

"I can do it with my thoughts alone," she explains. "I just need to relax and concentrate on feeling the energy flow inside me. I'm telling you this so that you know that it doesn't matter how long it lasts because I can finish very, very quickly." She reaches her hand up to stroke his face and murmurs, "Stop worrying, Malcolm. You will be perfect and we will be wonderful together; I can feel it."

He smiles at her, feeling his heart overflow with love for her. She's making this so much easier for him and he promises himself to find some wonderful way to express his gratitude. His lips find hers, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her flush against his body as they kiss passionately. He lets the music flood his mind, the feel of her against him sending jolts of electricity through him. She lifts her leg over his hip and wiggles a little until the tip of his erection is nestled against her folds, poised to enter her and he moans in pleasure. It's just a dance, he tells himself, a tango, the horizontal tango, and with that thought, he presses forward, slowly gliding into her, the sensation making him groan as he fights for control. She's so perfect, so warm and wet, and he's so close to the edge after so many years without this. He forces himself to listen to the music, dance to it, move to it, like any other tango, and he soon brings himself back under control.

It probably lasts about a minute, but it's the best minute of his life and as he feels her inner walls pulse around him and watches her face when she tumbles over, he can't help but feel proud and euphoric. Her eyes slide open and gaze at him in rapture and he thinks that nothing can be better than this, but he's wrong, so very wrong, and a moment later, he finds out just how wrong he truly is as she pushes him onto his back. She straddles him, sitting up across his hips with his hardened length still inside her and murmuring, "My turn to watch you come, Malcolm."

He swallows, already feeling the tingling at the base of his shaft just from hearing those words, and when he feels her rise up onto her knees, letting him slide out exquisitely slowly, he gasps and closes his eyes, knowing that this'll be it. Her fingers find his nipples and caress them gently for a moment and then he hears her say, "Come for me, Malcolm." Then her fingers pinch his nipples and she swiftly slips down onto him, plunging him inside her and causing his mind to explode at the sensation. A low animal sound escapes his lips, his hands gripping her thighs and his pelvis thrusting up into her as he spills inside her.

All the tension is suddenly gone and his body is limp, spent, and completely blissful. "Jean," he murmurs softly, opening his eyes and pulling her down over him, his lips finding hers and kissing her tenderly as his hands slide into her soft, dark hair. He kisses her over and over again, softly, delicately, lovingly as his heart rate slows and his breathing quietens, feeling his heart overflow with love for this incredible woman and thanking God, the world, the universe, fate, or whomever is responsible for bringing her to him. "I love you, Jean," he murmurs softly.

"I love you too," she replies, pressing her lips to his once more. "And _that_ was amazing."

"Yes," he smiles and pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her and sighing in contentment as his eyes drift closed and he falls asleep.

* * *

She wakes up with his arms still wrapped securely around her, her head resting on his shoulder, her leg nestled between his. She smiles happily and lets her eyes drift closed again, listening to his heart beating steadily in his chest. She's positively euphoric this morning, but even though she feels like jumping out of bed and dancing around the room in joy, she manages to contain her exuberance.

Soon she feels Malcolm begin to stir, murmuring something incoherent as he comes round and stretches. She lifts her head to watch him, raising herself onto her left elbow and smiling fondly down at him as his eyelashes part and his gorgeous, blue eyes focus on her. "Good morning," she grins.

"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice low and husky from sleep, sending bolts of desire straight to her core. She leans down to kiss him, pressing her lips softly against his once, twice, and on the third time she feels his hand slide into her hair and pull her firmly down towards him as his tongue slides over her lower lip, coaxing her to open up to him. She doesn't need asking twice, and moments later, they're kissing passionately. His fingers are running over her back softly all the way down to her buttocks before he slides them back up, scrapping against her with his nails now and causing her to groan at the exquisite sensation.

She runs her palm down his chest and over to his side, hearing him moan as her forearm accidental brushes against his erection, so she slides her hand over to touch him, running her fingers along his length, grasping him gently in her fist, exploring him for the first time. "Jean," he moans as he releases her lips and flips them over, rolling her onto her back so that he's on top.

She wraps her legs round him, swiftly nudging him into place and feeling him enter her slowly, stretching her so deliciously. "Malcolm," she murmurs softly, "you feel so very good. You fit me so perfectly. I knew you would. From the first moment I saw you, I knew you were special."

"You were the most beautifully woman I'd ever seen," he confesses, "When you sat down next to me, I couldn't believe my luck, but when you began a conversation and seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, I thought I must be dreaming. And now... now I don't care if I am dreaming as long as I never wake up... Thank you. Thank you for being so patient with me, for making it all so easy."

"You're worth it," she smiles and kisses him, tilting her hips up towards him and delighting in the moan that escapes him at the sensation. It takes them a few moments to find their rhythm, but eventually they find the perfect one and it feels so wonderful that she can't hold back her climax. She wants to make it last for fear of cutting their love making short, but it's impossible and before long she comes, her whole body vibrating with the intensity of the sensation. He doesn't stop though, doesn't slow at all but continues to penetrate her at a perfect rhythm, neither too fast, nor too slow, allowing her to ride the wave of her orgasm for several minutes as he murmurs words of love against her lips, her skin, his mouth toying with her breasts, her nipples. "Malcolm," he gasps, the sensations becoming almost too much for her.

At the sound of his name, he stills inside her, raising his head to look at her. "Yes?" he murmurs a little apprehensively she thinks. She wants to reassure him, but she can't find her voice. Instead she moans softly, her eyes closing as the tingling in her body slowly subsides. This has never happened to her before. She's always been able to achieve multiple orgasms, and when she was in her early forties, she learned how to come without any stimulation at all, but this continuous orgasm that lasts for minutes at a time is new and rather overwhelming.

"Jean, are you okay?" he asks softly.

"Yes," she whispers, opening her eyes again to look at him. "The sensation... it was incredible, Malcolm. How did you do that? I've never had an orgasm last that long before. It was a little overwhelming, but absolutely wonderful."

He smiles timidly, his cheeks flushing at the praise as he quickly looks away in embarrassment, and she feels her heart overflow with love for him. He's such a wonderful man. She lifts her hands to cup his face and turn him to face her again, pressing her lips firmly against his before pulling back and saying, "I love you, Malcolm."

"I love you too," he smiles and then begins to move again and the effect on her is immediate. She gasps and closes her eyes, her head dropping back against the pillow as her hypersensitive vaginal walls begin to spark and ignite again. The sensation is so overpowering this time that she's not even aware of her loud moans of pleasure or the tightness with which she grips his shoulders.

When she comes back down from her high, Malcolm is watching her. "Hi," he murmurs. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm much better than just all right, Malcolm," she smiles, rolling onto her side to face him. "I'm in seventh heaven. What about you?"

"Me?" He looks surprised. "I feel like superman," he confesses, making her laugh.

She cuddles up to his side and closes her eyes, murmuring softly, "I need a nap and then some food, but I hope Michael and Joanna are late arriving today because I'm going to want to do that again at least twice before bedtime tonight."


End file.
